


He Shouldn't Have Told You

by XWingKC



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Explicit Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XWingKC/pseuds/XWingKC
Summary: Carter hits the bottle hard over her feelings for Jack.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	He Shouldn't Have Told You

Sam sat in the darkness of her living room alone, bottle in hand. She hadn’t even bothered getting a glass. Straight shots out of the bottle will do just fine tonight. She couldn’t stop the tears. She’d get pissed when she cried. She’d throw something, or hit something. There were a few broken things in the room with her.

She thought about what she went through when he was taken captive by Ba’al. There wasn’t a single fucking thing she could do. She knew he was being tortured. She just didn’t know what or how bad until she read his report. Her trained eye knew he lied in his report. He left things out. 

She remembered she fucking couldn’t do a thing to help him, and it hurt her soul. She wanted to take the entire US Marines and US Army to that planet and extract him. Hell, she’d steal a ship and do it herself if she thought she could do it. But she had to stay on Earth, hoping someone would get him out. All the while knowing he was being tortured. Again. How many times could he survive this in his life? Iran or Iraq wasn't enough? 

She found something else to throw. A coaster. It hit the fireplace and bounced to the floor. The ceramic disk broke, she heard it crack. She felt relieved, but pissed that nothing else broke. She took another shot from the bottle. She wanted to break everything. She wanted to hit something and make her hand bleed more. 

It was her idea in the first place for him to take a Tok’ra to save his life. It was a selfish decision on her part. Fuck yes she wanted him to live. He was everything to her. And she could never tell him that. 

It started with her having to stand up to a room full of chauvinistic pigs in the conference room, him included. She hated men like that. While she found him to be incredibly attractive and fuckable, his attitude turned her off that day. He flat out dismissed her and her talents in front of the other men and the General. Thank the gods that Hammond stuck up for her and basically told him to fuck himself and that she was on his team. It was great. And the rest of them? They could go to hell for all she cared. Fuck those fuckers.

He’d be dead today if he hadn’t taken the Tok’ra. And then he was captured and tortured because of that damn snake. It was her fault he was captured. She’d never forgive herself. She took another drink and felt the dark liquid start to take her to a calmer place.

She stared at the light on her cable box telling her what time it was. 2330 on a Saturday. And here she was, at home, alone, drinking from a bottle. All because of him. Well, and Teal’c. What a jackass he had been. How dare he spill her secrets to him? Shit. Here come the fucking tears again. She threw another coaster somewhere into the kitchen. She heard it hit something and really didn’t care.

Fuck Edora. Fuck that whore who took what she wanted so freely. She didn’t have to hide, she just went for it. Goddammit. It wasn’t her fucking fault, what was her name? Lora? Fuck. And she knew he thought he wasn’t coming back. But she hated it. The asshole never thanked her for what she did to bring him home. Fuck him. She hated thinking of his hands on someone else. Fucking Laira. That was her name. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She took another drink and let the tears fall.

Then she remembered why she had the bottle in her hands in the first place. Fucking Maybourne. That asshole zatted her, and she woke up and he was gone. Maybourne was gone too. It took her forever to figure that one out. And then when he did come back, Teal’c went off and fucking told him how she “despaired at never seeing him again” or some shit like that. Fuck that. Not his place to say a fucking thing about it. She let out a very loud and frustrated growl. Now he knew. Fuck. More tears. Fuck this. She threw another coaster towards her back door. She thought she heard glass break. Whatever.

She took another shot from the bottle and heard a knock on the door. She looked at the clock on her cable box. 0015. Only one person would be knocking on her door at this hour. Shit. She didn’t have shoes or socks on. She wore gym shorts and a tank top. She grabbed her bottle and wobbled to the door. She flipped on the light and looked to see who it was. She was right.

“What do you want?” she asked, not using any of her formal honorifics. This was her house, goddammit. She can talk how she wants to talk.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said from the other side of the door.

“I’m fine.”

“I doubt that. Can I come in?”

“Why? So you can just ignore me some more? Push me to the side?”

“Sam. Are you drunk?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you mean, _sir_ ,” she said with a cocky emphasis on the honorific. 

“Sam,” he said in his warning voice.

“What? You gonna write me up for insubordination by showing up on my doorstep after midnight? Fuck that. Good luck,” she said, stumbling backwards a bit from the door.

“Sam, open the door, please. Open or I’ll come in myself.”

His tone and words had her frozen in place. Shit. He had a key. He has a key to Daniel’s too.

“Make me,” she said. Shit. That was childish even for her. Fuck this whiskey. She dropped the bottle on the floor and went back to the couch.

She thought she heard him make an exasperated exhalation before she heard the clanking of keys on his keychain. She heard him put the key in the door and open it. Fuck.

He walked into a very dark house. His foot hit the whiskey bottle and knocked it over. Not a lot spilled out, but he picked it up and walked further into the house. He got to the kitchen and turned a light on. He saw her blonde head sitting on the couch.

Bottle still in hand, he went over to sit by her. Not really next to her, but enough that he could watch her. Her knees were up against her chest, and her back up against the back of the couch. She held her eyes in her hands trying to keep the light out.

“Can you please turn that off,” she said.

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please,” she said, fighting back the tears again.

“No.”

That pissed her off. 

“What the fuck, _Jack_? How much more of this shit do I have to take? What do you want from me? Just leave me alone. Please. Fucking get out.”

And when he didn’t say anything or move.

“Now!” she screamed. “Get the fuck out of my house!” she stood up and pointed to the door. Oh boy was she drunk.

He stood up in front of her, absorbing her wrath. 

“No. You are drunk and I want to make sure you are going to be OK.”

She stared at him. Her eyes were red and he could tell she had been crying. Or perhaps right now she still was crying. 

“OK? You want to make sure that I’m OK? Where was this concern when I got you back from Edora? Where was this concern when I figured out where you and Maybourne were? And when Ba’al had you? Fuck. I couldn’t do a fucking thing to get to you,” she said that last bit with a bit of venom in her voice.

“I knew you were being tortured and I couldn’t do a fucking thing. So little old Sam pushed her shit down inside again and played the happy little Airman as we waited. Fucking waited to see if you would ever come back. And goddamn Laira. Jack. What the fuck? Really? Jesus Christ. I can’t do this anymore,” she resigned and slumped back down on her couch.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered and looked in the direction of her fireplace. “He shouldn't have told you. Please leave, sir,” she said quietly.

He stood there looking down at her on the couch. Her words cut him. But, she was drunk, and with lowered inhibitions, there would always be some truth to what she was saying.

“Sam, you are drunk. Why don’t you go to bed and we can talk in the morning.”

“Talk? Now you want to talk to me? What do you want to talk about, _Jack_? How much I have come to rely on you? How much I’ve grown to trust you over the years? How I notice how you look at me sometimes? How I hope that you see how I look back at you? How much I wish these fucking rules didn’t mean so much to me? How much I…..Am I getting close, _Jack_?”

He looked at her and saw the anger in her eyes. He was always able to read her eyes. Now was no different. She was hurting, and he had a part to play in that hurt.

“Yes, all of that, Sam. But not now. Not while you are drunk.”

She didn’t expect that answer. She expected him to be angry with her, and argue with her, and maybe storm out of her house like she desperately wanted him to. It would be easier that way. He was standing with his arms crossed in front of him. He had his face set to where he was holding back, but also taking in everything she was saying. Fuck. How can he have this much power to disarm her?

“What does that mean?” she quietly choked out.

“It means I do want to talk to you about all of that, and more. But not now. Not when you are juiced.”

She stared at him now, really looked at him. He was serious. He wasn’t upset. He was being patient and calm with her. 

“Why...?” she cried out. Then the tears really started to fall. “Why can’t it be me?” she cried out.

He sat down beside her, and she fell into his side and cried. He held her for a long time. He had done this with her before. He was used to holding her. And that may be part of the problem, too. At least for him.

He held her as she sobbed for a good twenty minutes. His polo shirt was drenched in her tears and snot, and he didn’t really care. When he felt her quiet, he nudged her and asked her if she was ready for bed. She didn’t reply, and she didn’t move.

“Great,” he said.

She was passed out. He moved them both around to where he could put an arm around her back, and an arm under her legs. He carried her back to her bedroom, which was already messed up. Either she had attempted to sleep tonight, or she never made the bed or picked up for a day or two. 

He gently laid her on her bed and covered her up. He left her room and went back out and started picking up broken things around her house, and put the whiskey bottle in the kitchen. Her back window was broken. He found some duct tape and taped up the window to keep the weather and bugs out. He’d help her replace that tomorrow.

After he got done cleaning up, he laid down on her couch. He loves her. He knew he was in love with her for a long time. But he also knows how much she loves her job. There just isn’t a good way to make this work. He won’t use her as a notch on his belt. Love doesn’t work that way. He won’t make this a fly-by-night. She deserves so much more. He eventually fell asleep.

…

She woke up the next morning with a rather large headache. The sun was poking through her windows, and she put her arm to her eyes and moaned out in pain. She smelled coffee. Then she remembered. Fuck. Last night really happened. She heard noise in the kitchen. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He was still here. Fuck.

She stared at her ceiling before making her way to her bathroom. She brushed her teeth and found some tylenol. She swallowed the pills down before taking a good look at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t remember all of what she said last night. But she remembered enough to know that it ended with her crying in his arms. Again. Fuck. 

She put a sweatshirt on, which will cover up more than her tank did last night. She pulled up her proverbial bootstraps and made her way to the kitchen. He must have heard her because as soon as she turned the corner into her kitchen, he had a cup of coffee waiting for her. She barely looked at him, and said thank you. She was mortified at her behavior. And he knew it by the smirk she saw on his face.

“Good morning, sunshine!” he exclaimed, a little louder than her head could handle.

“Hey,” is all she said, wincing at the loudness in his voice.

“You OK?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said without looking at him.

He stood there staring at her, coffee cup in his own hand. He didn’t move. She didn’t move. She didn’t look at him. She just stared into her coffee cup.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, still not meeting his eyes.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Carter. You, uh, broke some stuff last night.” 

She winced when she remembered.

“Ya. I’m really sorry.”

“You still want to talk? Without the wonderful influence of whiskey?” he asked, smiling at her.

She inhaled deeply and finally looked at him. His eyes were gentle and kind. He looked to her like something special. He looked at her like he…..then her tears fell again. She leaned against her refrigerator, still holding her coffee cup in her hands in front of her.

“Sir, I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she said, looking right at him through her watery eyes. She knew he understood everything.

“Ya. Me neither, Carter,” he said in between deep breaths. 

She gave him the slightest of smiles.

“Should we sit down?” she asked softly, almost too soft for him to hear.

“Sure.”

They went to the couch. As she walked over, she noticed he had picked the place up a bit. She sat in the same spot she did last night and noticed the spot now smelled like him. He slept here. She brought her knees up again in front of her, and held her coffee cup on her knees. She was staring at it.

“So what now?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I’ve never been in a situation like this before,” he admitted.

“Situation? So that’s what I am? A _situation_?” she started to get defensive again.

“Hey. Are you going to give me a chance and talk with me, or do I just walk out the damn door and we leave it in the fucking room again just like you wanted two years ago?”

That zinged her. He knew how to get her attention. He knew how to speak to her when she was wrong. He always had.

He was right. She was being unreasonable. There were two of them involved here. And it was her that made the unilateral decision to leave things in the room after the za’tarc test. She didn’t give him a choice back then, and that may just be why they are in the situation they are in now. 

She rubbed her eyes with one hand and tried to get the tears to stop.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve never been like this before either,” she admitted. She glanced sideways at him and found he was still looking at her.

“Carter. I’m always going to support you. Always. You are the brightest, most intelligent, and fun person I have ever gotten to work with. I haven’t always been nice or even fair to you. But I respect the hell out of you, and I trust you with my life.”

“Thank you, sir. You were a pain in the ass when I first met you and dressed you and the guys down in that conference room. But then I saw how you interact with us. Now I see an honorable man who I can trust to bring me home.”

“Ah. Carter...Sam. How’d we end up here?” he smiled then took a sip of coffee.

She looked over to him and made sure he turned his head to her before she spoke again.

“I don’t know,” and more tears fell. “I don’t want to transfer. I don’t want you to transfer. It’s an impossible situation. Tell me what to do, Jack. Because I really don’t know.”

He watched her fall apart again. 

“C’mere,” he leaned forward and put his coffee cup down on the table in front of them. He took hers and put it next to his. She snuggled up to his side and he put his arm around her. He let her sob against him again.

“Ah, Sam. I can’t give you what you need right now. You can’t give me what I need right now. I know what this job means to you. And I can’t promise you that you will one day find a handsome, young man who will sweep you off your feet and take you far away from here. I can’t promise I’ll ever find someone else again. But what I can promise you is that I will always be there for you, no matter what. Believe me.”

He paused and let his words sink in. She sat back up and looked at him. He was looking at her with eyes that she’s only seen him use on her. He held her hand and caressed her hand with his thumb. The look they were giving each other spoke the words neither one could admit. 

She put her other palm on his cheek. She held his gaze and started to close the distance between them, then she stopped. She knew the ball was in her court. She understood that no matter what she chose to do, he would go along with it and support her decision. But she stopped.

She knows that she loves him. She knows that he loves her. She knew if she went any further that she would not be able to stop. Neither would he. She looked from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes.

“I think you should leave now, before…” and she didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t have to. He understood. 

He squeezed her hand and then stood up from her couch. 

“Thank you, sir,” she said, adding in the honorific again. But she did not smile. 

“Think nothing of it, Carter,” and he did smile at her. He offered his hand to her to get her to stand. She accepted and stood in front of her. 

He hugged her deep and hard, and she didn’t think he’d ever let her go. And in reality, he won’t let her go. Maybe one day there will come a time for her and Jack to be together. Maybe one day they can be together. Maybe one day they can have a real relationship. But that day is not now.

She watched him walk to her door. He turned around and smiled at her. 

“One day, Sam. One day,” he said, then he walked out of her house, leaving an almost-promise to her hanging in the air.


End file.
